


Shave A Little Closer, Dear

by veritas_st



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, rewrite of the shaving scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know it's been done before but I really wanted to do it.  Rewrite of the shaving scene.  Special thanks to Mrstotten for transcribing the scene for me!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shave A Little Closer, Dear

The knock at the door makes James freeze for a second. Years of training and practical application makes him know that an unexpected knocked at the door more than often leads to trouble. Then there’s the faint noise of someone clearing their throat and another tentative knock. Either the person behind the door is a very good or…

“Room service…” even though he’s only met him once James recognises Q’s unmistakable voice. Easy, clipped by Private education, with a hint of London that makes it almost endearing. He purses his lips, frowns quickly and pulls the door open and tries not to notice the way Q’s eyes slip down to his chest and back up again. 

“I didn’t order anything,” James drawls, leaning against the door frame. Q sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose with his little finger. He hefts his laptop case, _brilliantly_ disguised as some kind of man bag higher on his shoulder. “Even you.” 

“I’ve got some new information,” Q says, stepping into the room and looking around like it’s his first time in a fancy hotel. James takes in the dark circles under his eyes and imagines Q staying up the whole flight tapping away on his laptop.

“Aren’t you a little _under_ qualified to be delivery messages?” James quips and turns back to the bathroom. 

“As always your sense of humour is impeccable. Anyway,” Q drops his bag onto the large expanse of bed and James briefly wonders how he got up to the room. “It’s all part of the learning curve, and Eve’s afraid of flying.” 

“Of course she is,” James eyes Q as he pushes his glasses up his nose again. The boy looks nervous, unused to the finery associated with being a Double-0 and setting out on a mission. James sighs and head backs to the bathroom. 

“So,” Q clears his throat and leans against the oval door frame, jacket discarded somewhere along the way and James takes in his thin wrists. “Whoever stole the list has already decrypted it, they posted the first five names on the web.” 

“It was only a matter of time,” James resists the urge to shrug and rubs the thick foam over his neck, the badger hair brush tickling his skin. 

“Well that’s just the start,” Q crosses his arms over his chest, “they’re posting five more next week and the week after. It’s some kind of sadistic game…” Q trails off as James picks up his razor and glances at the boy in the mirror. “Speaking of sadistic…cut throat razor,” Q raises an eyebrow, “how very…traditional.” 

“Well I like to do something’s the old fashioned way,” he raises the razor to his cheek and Q appears in the mirror behind him and James gives him his best ‘I knew you’d come to me eventually’ smirk. 

“Sometimes the old ways are the best,” Q says, his voice quiet but still with that easy hint of London. James lowers the razor from his neck and turns around, his shoulder brushing against Q’s chest. He holds the razor out to Q who reaches forward and covers James’s hands with his own. 

“Are you putting your life in someone else’s hands again?” 

“It was Eve’s hands last time…I think I prefer the odds now,” James drawls and Q blinks, seemingly unnerved by the closeness which makes James’s palm itch with the need to touch the deliciously fragile boy in front of him. 

“Thank you,” Q runs his finger over the razor, like he’s testing the edge and James watches the way his hands seem delicate at the same time as they hold a kind of power. “I think,” Q raises his gaze and frowns a little up at James. “You need to sit down.” 

James is full of brilliant ideas, at least he thinks so, M might have to disagree, but he doesn’t think he’s had such a good idea as pulling Q onto the balcony and making him slip to his knees in a long time. Q’s frowns again, pushes his glasses up with his nose and James is beginning with understand it’s more of a decisive gesture than a nervous one. More like he’s pulling up his sleeves. Q reaches to the right of him and swirls the razor through the hot water. 

“M has already briefed me on the list, raising the tantalising question of what you’re really doing here,” James says as Q cradles James’s jaw beneath his hand and sliding the razor up James’s right cheek. Q stares at him and James wonders where the hell he learnt to shave with a cut throat. 

“My official directive was to help in any way I can,” Q flicks the razor upwards and swipes it across the towel on James’s shoulder, the tips of his fingers follow briefly as he checks the path the razor took. The angle has James looking up at Q, who shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie as James hauled a chair onto the balcony. The hollow at the base of Q’s throat is in James’s eyeline and Q’s throat bobs as he swallows. 

“Like spying for Mallory?” James asks and Q tugs on his chin lightly and turns James’s head to the right, a surge of something untoward in regards to his Quartermaster coils in his stomach. 

“I’ve met the man once 007, I don’t care to cast aspersions on his character but…” Q swipes the razor up James’s left cheek, the metal scraping over James’s jawline and the noise sounds loud in his head, “he’s not as bad as you think.” 

“He’s a beaurocrat,” James counters as Q raises as eyebrow, eyes still fixed on James’s jaw as he moves the razor across his skin. 

“You should do your homework,” Q smiles lightly, his lips curling up at one corner, the razor sliding across the towel and then back on his skin, scraping under his nose as James scowls. “Gareth Mallory was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Northern Ireland Terriory Regiment,” Q frowns in concentration, “spent three months at the hands of the IRA…” he pauses to wipe the foam on the razor and run it through the warm water. He uses the towel to dry it off before pressing it back to James’s skin. “So there’s more to him than meets the eye,” Q says as James reaches forward, fed up with the pretense of shaving and suddenly needing to see what his childishly young Quartermaster would look like spread out under him. 

“We’ll see,” he mutters as tugs Q’s shirt out from his trousers, runs his fingers across the surprisingly taut expanse of skin. The muscles twitch under his touch and Q’s fingers curls under his chin. 

“Keep still,” Q says, his eyes betraying the fact that he’s at all affected by James’s touch, “this is the tricky part.” Q tips his head back and James lets him press the razor to his throat, run it up against his Adam’s apple. He suppresses the urge to swallow as Q drops the razor into the bowl of water and leans forward as if inspecting his handiwork. 

“Now that’s better,” he whispers, breath skirting over James’s sensitive skin and lips. “You look the part now.” 

“Hmm,” James practically grunts non-committedly, “what parts that then?” James ask as Q tugs the towel from round one shoulder and lifts it to James’s face, cradles James’s cheeks in his hands and wipes the excess foam off his skin with his thumb. Q raises an eyebrow as James’s hand runs around the line of his trousers. 

“Old dog…” Q shifts forward a little and James knows he’s won this time, “new tricks.” 

…

Q’s skinny but not malnourished. His muscles are whipcord rather than highly defined like Bond’s. He’s delicate in a way that belies the strength that lies under his skin, coiled tension and years of self defence makes him a worthy opponent on the bedroom as James slams him hard up against the nearest wall, hard enough to rattle teeth and Q just goes with it, grips James’s hair hard at the back of his neck, scrapes his own long flight stubbles across Bond’s newly shaved cheeks and hums into his mouth as James explores Q’s right back. 

…

Q groans when he comes, James buried deep inside his body, bites down on James’s bottom lip hard enough that it hurts, and for the second time in his life, James wonders how the hell he’s going to give this up. 

…

James fucks Q awake an hour later, artificial, smoggy lightly filtering in through the large windows from the city below and Q’s body warm and pliant, still lose from last night. James slips in easily as Q’s eyes fly open and his fingers press into James’s shoulders. 

“I knew you were going to be trouble,” James mutters, lips moving against Q’s. He’s got work to do, a mission to complete but Q’s body is tempting and warm and it’s been too long since James felt the desire to fuck anyone a second time.

Q smiles lazily and gives as good as he gets. 

…

When James fucks Sévérine against the shower wall he thinks of bird like wrists and blunt fingernails, messy curls under his fingers and a clipped faint London voice in his ear.


End file.
